


Futures Made Flesh

by rudigersmooch



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Complicated Relationships, Different Marks for Different Species, Enemies to Lovers, Everybody Lives, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Victim blaming thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24042736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudigersmooch/pseuds/rudigersmooch
Summary: Nerys tried not to think about her Mark more than she had to.
Relationships: Damar/Kira Nerys
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26
Collections: Id Pro Quo 2020





	Futures Made Flesh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thinlizzy2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinlizzy2/gifts).



> Hello recip! Thanks for requesting DS9 and this rarepair of my heart, and I hope you enjoy the fic; it's not the 50k epic I've wanted to write ever since I saw your requests, but hopefully you enjoy it nonetheless!

Although the scar must’ve formed in the split second Nerys’ knuckles connected with Damar’s cheek, it wasn’t until later, when she was seething quietly to herself but no longer shaking with rage, that she noticed the unusual tightness across her skin.

Her first instinct was denial, but it only carried her so far when a simple brush of her thumb against the marred skin made her shiver. Sensation wasn’t dulled as it would’ve been if the scar had been caused by an injury; if anything, the skin was more sensitive than it had been before she’d been Marked, and it throbbed when she clenched her fist, a dizzying reminder that it was there even when she determinedly crossed her arms and hid the blemish from sight. If her anger had faded at all over the past few hours, it only surged back stronger when she realized what that meant: that no matter how she might choose to cover or disguise it, to ignore or deny it, the reality of the Mark would never be far from her thoughts. The Mark, like every Bajoran’s Mark, was there to stay.

For a brief moment, Nerys considered using a knife to cut it away, but another glance at the scar showed her how impractical that would be. It ran across the major knuckles of her first and second fingers, stretching over bone and tendons and nearly an inch wide at the widest point; removing it would cripple her hand, even assuming that it worked. Considering Nerys was unlucky enough to be Marked by a Cardassian, she didn’t think she’d be lucky enough to have it disappear just because she wanted it to, and the possibility that it might reappear—on her face, her arm, her torso—made her stomach roll. On her hand, it was just another scar; she didn’t want anyone to ever have cause to question that, to ever look at her and wonder who had left that eternal impression on her skin.

If she looked closely, she thought she could even see the impression of scales in the flat, shiny skin, like it had been burned onto her by her rage alone.

For the fourth time in as many hours, Nerys wished she’d killed Damar when she’d had the chance.

***

Nerys tried not to think about her Mark more than she had to, and once Captain Sisko and the Federation returned to Deep Space Nine, the necessity became blessedly infrequent. The day-to-day activities of war with the Dominion took precedence over any thoughts she might’ve had when she remembered the Mark was there, and even when she caught sight of it out of the corner of her eye while working or when she saw it in the mirror or when it reflected back the lights overhead, it was easy to dismiss. After days turned into weeks, she barely noticed the way it pulled at her skin when her fingers moved, and though she never intentionally touched it, she convinced herself that she’d surely feel nothing if she did.

The scar, however, was less easy to ignore when she spoke to other Bajorans who had been Marked as she had been. It was supposed to be a blessing bestowed by the Prophets, and between Bajorans, the Marks were personal, beautiful, and something to be proud of. Sometimes they manifested as a scattering of moles, a colored smudge of skin, an impression, a scar—it was always in the location where skin had first touched skin, and it was instinctive to look at a Bajoran’s hands when you first met, to see if they’d been blessed in such a way and in the most common location.

Nerys noticed those who never looked, and it was impossible not to understand when they also kept their hands tucked away and out of sight. Bajoran-Cardassian Marks weren’t unheard of, and they were in fact more common than either species wanted to admit; it had been one of the things that had doomed Bajor when the Cardassians first invaded, this belief that they were so _compatible_ and so surely could be trusted. Nerys had considered those first Bajorans fools and traitors for most of her life, and any sympathy she’d had for Bajorans Marked by Cardassians was smothered under the knowledge that they’d touched a Cardassian’s bare skin, that some part of their soul had found kinship with a Cardassian, and that the Mark was evidence of that.

Nerys herself was no exception, and so the times she was forced to see her Mark for what it was, she hated herself. What’s worse was that it wasn’t just any Cardassian she was tied to, but Damar, who loathed Bajorans, who looked at the most vile and brutal Cardassians like they deserved respect, and whose sneer was forever imprinted in her mind just as surely as his scales were imprinted in the brand on her skin. Hating him didn’t make it easier to accept what she’d done (what she’d _allowed_ to happen) but it eased something inside her to know that at least she wasn’t alone in her disgust. Damar would never have willingly touched a Bajoran’s skin; if he ever found out that he’d Marked her, he’d be horrified. If he’d been in her place, he wouldn’t have hesitated — he’d have cut off his entire arm before he allowed an enemy Mark to stay.

Nerys, though, was stronger than that. Strong enough, at the least, to live with her mistakes instead of cowering from them.

It helped.

***

When Damar’s message of rebellion flooded the viewing screens of Deep Space Nine Command, Nerys was just as shocked as anyone.

When Captain Sisko asked if she would help, when he didn’t spoil the question with doubt and didn’t so much as glance at the scar on her hand, Nerys knew she was going to agree. The war with the Dominion was much larger than her feelings, and all of the Alpha Quadrant was more important than the twist in her stomach at the thought of helping the Cardassians win.

She didn’t know if the feeling got better or worse when she wasn’t sent to Cardassia Prime alone; Odo accompanied her in his role as a trustworthy friend and ally despite everything, and their little party was rounded out by Garak, who had become his disguise more and more over the years. Until Damar’s message had started playing, Nerys would’ve said that Garak was their most surprising ally in the fight against the Dominion; now she wasn’t so certain, and as they moved from cargo ship to cargo ship to make their way past the Dominion blockade, she tried to recall if she’d seen anything on Damar’s face to make her think he was lying. It would be a very typical Cardassian trick to ask for their help simply to lure them into Dominion hands, and all of them were valuable in their way. The Dominion had to be salivating at the thought of bringing Odo back to the Founders’ homeworld, and Garak had been breaking Cardassian code on the Federation’s behalf—eliminating him would be in their best interest. Nerys, meanwhile, could be tortured for information on the Federation and Bajor both, a valuable prisoner to replace the two Damar had set free as a gesture, and then she could be executed just to prove a point when they were finished.

It was exactly the plan a Cardassian would come up with, and Nerys couldn’t explain why, out of all the things she worried about, she didn’t consider the possibility of such a trick for more than a few hours.

***

It took months for Nerys to realize that she’d made a mistake in coming to Cardassia.

It wasn’t because the rebellion was failing—quite the opposite, in fact. Damar’s attempts to stand up to the Dominion might’ve been doomed from the start, but in the process of losing men and ground and sleep, he’d become something of a folk hero to the Cardassians. It wasn’t something Nerys expected, but she knew how heroes could shape an army, how Li Nalas had done more for the Resistance than supplies and support alone could have, and she knew they needed that if they wanted to win. No, it wasn’t the rebellion that bothered her; it was Damar himself.

He’d changed. Nerys didn’t know when or how, but something had happened on that stolen Jem’Hadar ship, and she’d seen a piece of him she never thought existed. She knew Damar the loyal, unfaltering Cardassian; they’d fought and argued and butted heads enough over every move the rebellion had made, and after months of that, she knew him _well_ enough to want to push him down a flight of stairs and save herself the trouble of a stubborn Cardassian. She even knew him well enough to understand some of what motivated him; the desire to protect and free his homeworld was one she recognized in herself, and though she didn’t think she’d ever forgive him entirely for being who he was, she could feel a kinship with that feeling. Almost.

And then he’d picked her and Odo over his friend, a fellow Cardassian. He’d listened to her advice, agreed with it, and then he’d asked if Odo was all right. Not ‘the changeling.’ Not ‘the Founder.’ Odo.

He’d changed.

It was a complication.

***

It wasn’t until they were hiding in Mila’s basement, just the three of them, that Nerys saw Damar’s Birthmark.

It was entirely by accident, but it was the expected result of living in such close quarters; averting one’s eyes away in time to avoid seeing a flash of bare skin when space and showers and clothes were limited was next to impossible, and mostly Nerys ignored it as best she could. Damar and Garak did the same.

It was after a reconnaissance mission ruined by a downpour that had found them both in need of a change of clothes. Damar had turned away to give her privacy, and Nerys had started to do the same until she caught a glimpse of the hand print on his back. She’d known it was somewhere—it had to be, if he was responsible for a Bajoran Mark—but she’d never thought to see it. It was startlingly white against his gray skin, not at all like the lighter gray she’d imagined when curiosity had gotten the better of her and she’d researched the matter of Cardassian Birthmarks, and she told herself that the unexpected contrast was why her eyes lingered.

As placements went, it was an unlucky one. The print was of a left hand high on the right side of his back, and the thumb was pointed towards his shoulder with the tips of the pinky and fourth finger just barely brushing his spine; it wasn’t a sort of touch that could be found casually, and Cardassians being Cardassians, letting someone that close was equally likely to lead to a knife through the ribs as it was the embrace it signified. It was a lover’s touch, that hand print, and despite what the Birthmark meant, it was supposed to be unusual for it to be placed so intimately—it was right behind his heart, where a hand would naturally rest over it during sex. It was personal. Private.

Nerys looked away before she was caught staring, and before she could let her mind follow the matter anywhere else. Damar wouldn’t ask about the flush on her cheeks, but Garak would; Nerys wanted to avoid the conversation and those sharp, perceptive eyes if at all possible.

***

When the door to Central Command opened, Damar was the first to charge through, with Nerys and Garak right at his heels. The Cardassian soldiers with them didn’t seem to notice or care when the Jem’Hadar turned their weapons on them, and the desperation in the air was palpable; there was no choice but to fight to the death if that’s what it took, and every person here knew that. It was their final stand, their final hope, and the thought hummed in her mind in time with her heart.

They ran down the longest hallway of her life, but two Jem’Hadar were waiting for them. A dozen shots were fired with deadly aim before the rest of them took cover, and Nerys instinctively looked for familiar faces among the dead. There weren’t any, but even if there had been, she still would’ve dove for the nearest body, using their slump against the nearest wall as shelter.

She didn’t see the third Jem’Hadar until she was moving again, and when it took aim at her, Nerys felt the air move. She couldn’t get her weapon up fast enough; she knew she’d be too slow, too late, before she fired.

The shove caught her off guard, but she rolled, coming up on both feet and firing even as she heard the enemy’s shot go off.

It wasn’t for her.

The blast hit Damar in the shoulder, and Nerys watched him fall before she jerked her eyes away, back to the Jem’Hadar that were still guarding the door.

***

That all three of them survived was nothing short of a miracle, and even in the immediate aftermath of the Female Founder surrendering, Nerys could barely believe it. With the death toll as high as it was, she’d expected to be among the body count; Damar, too, if she was being honest.

Relief for them all nearly made her knees weak, and she left Central Command as soon as she could without leading to more questions. It wasn’t the first time Nerys had survived despite the odds, but it was the first time a war had ended and she immediately had somewhere else to be. She’d made note of where Damar had been carried off to once the shots stopped firing, and while she and Garak had pressed forward, she told herself that she would deal with the matter later.

‘Later’ couldn’t be avoided any longer, and so she picked her way through the wreckage, around the bodies and husks of buildings, and made her way down the street. Nobody gave her even a passing glance despite the vibrant color of her hair and her distinctly non-Cardassian lineage, and Nerys took full advantage of the invisibility.

Though the makeshift hospital was filled to the brim with injured Cardassians, it didn’t take very long for Nerys to find Damar. He was sitting up on one of the cots, scowling every time the nurse tried to adjust the bandage on his shoulder, and then wincing whenever he looked away; Nerys felt something inside of her relax at the sight, and she accepted it and pushed it aside to examine another time.

For now, she had plans to tell him how foolish he’d been, how selfish. He was a figurehead now, someone his people desperately needed for the future — he didn’t have the luxury of dying to save a comrade, not even if Nerys was deeply grateful for the attempt.

She had taken a seat at his side and gone into just such a speech for almost ten minutes before Damar could get a word in, not that he seemed to try very hard. The idea that he might just be waiting for her to tire annoyed her, and the annoyance propelled her to keep speaking for another five minutes or so. When silence finally fell, Damar looked ashamed, and as exhausted as Nerys had ever seen him.

“You’re right,” he said shortly, and he laid down on his uninjured side with a huff. “It was a foolish risk.”

He didn’t seem finished, so Nerys waited. The bustle around them provided more than enough cover for their conversation, and if Damar was putting this much thought into his next words, they had to be important.

“I thought enough Bajorans had died for Cardassian interests,” he said finally, and Nerys’ anger left her in a wave. It would be back later, when she had time to remember the complicated reality of her years in the Resistance, but for now she couldn’t find fault in the sentiment.

Well. Almost.

“Is that all?” She wasn’t asking for more reasons, but she’d spent enough months with Damar to know that he’d held something back. He really was a terrible liar, for a Cardassian.

Damar looked at her askance, but whatever he saw on her face made his scowl lessen, then fade. He sat up but kept his eyes on her, his expression puzzled.

“Shouldn’t it be?”

“I suppose.”

Nerys could see the following days laid out without trying: Damar healing and then trying to clean up the aftermath of the Dominion, Nerys going quietly back to Bajor and Deep Space Nine and providing her expertise where needed, then escorting Odo home. Possibly she would live a peaceful, uncomplicated life in the years that followed; she doubted she would see Damar again except in passing, assuming the Federation and Bajor even decided to forgive Cardassia for its sins.

Some part of her rebelled at the thought of all of it, and she ran a thumb across her Mark while she tried to think of the words to explain what she was feeling. It couldn’t end here, not before it had even begun.

Damar broke the silence first.

“You would never want a Cardassian.” The words were quiet, certain, and without bitterness. He looked at her with no expectations, and he clearly had no thought of trying to change her feelings on the matter; Nerys wished she could frame the moment, and then she wished she could smother the laugh that bubbled out of her in response. It was a relieved sound, nothing more, but Damar immediately looked offended.

She leaned forward to wrap her arms carefully around his shoulders, and she kept holding on even when he jerked in surprise.

“I wish it was that simple,” she replied, because it had been that simple years or even months ago. Nerys could already see the future headaches in trying to make it work, and she knew that it was selfish and stupid to want to try; she held on anyway. “But I never thought I’d be here either.” Here, on Cardassia, with her arms around his back. She didn’t have to look to know that her hand must have lined up perfectly with the print under his shirt; his shivering told her as much, as did the way the scar on her fingers pulsed with heat. Like finding like.

Slowly, Damar returned the embrace.

Nerys felt like she was going to jump out of her skin.

“You can stay,” Damar said, and the superior tone of his voice was ruined by the way his fingers shook. Nerys understood immediately that he hadn’t known, hadn’t guessed, whose hand print was on his back. “As long as you like.”

“Maybe just a few days,” Nerys said, and they both understood what she wasn’t saying: _to start._

They didn’t separate for a very long time, and when they finally did, it was only to better align their heads to share the first kiss of many to come.


End file.
